Harry's Song
by S-N16
Summary: Harry's soul song plays.


I needed words… And this is a song I did for a dance once and I thought so much of it would work. Sorry for the cuss words, because I know I don't usually use them, but I didn't want to tarnish his work.

Disclaimer: Not mine, Rowlings or Shane Koyczan's. To This Day.

* * *

When I was a kid

I used to think that pork chops and karate chops

Were the same thing

I thought they were both pork chops

Harry cooking food for the Dursleys'. Burning himself with the pan and being told to "Tough it out."

And because my grandmother thought it was cute

Harry looking through the loose cracks in the cupboard and seeing his aunt croon over Dudley.

And because they were my favorite

She let me keep doing it

Not really a big deal

Harry showing his teachers his scars.

One day

Before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees

Harry trying to escape Ripper by climbing the tree.

I fell out of a tree

And bruised the right side of my body

Ripper growling at him.

I didn't want to tell my grandmother about it

Because I was afraid I'd get in trouble

Vernon beating Harry.

For playing somewhere that I shouldn't have been

A few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise

His music teacher calling the office.

And I got sent to the principal's office

From there I was sent to another small room

With a really nice lady

The school nurse asking him questions.

Who asked me all kinds of questions

About my life at home

I saw no reason to lie

As far as I was concerned

Life was pretty good

Harry talking to the nurse and telling her "life is pretty great,'' because it was rehearsed, he was told to say that.

I told her, "Whenever I'm sad

My grandmother gives me karate chops"

Getting thrown into the cupboard.

This led to a full-scale investigation

And I was removed from the house for three days

Having to stay in an attic full of other kids, nightmares screaming throughout the night.

Until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises

News of this silly little story quickly spread through the school

And I earned my first nickname

Pork Chop

The kids at school leaving him a wide berth in the halls as if he was a freak.

To this day

I hate pork chops

Not being able to eat for days because he hadn't done the dishes because he had collapsed from exhaustion.

I'm not the only kid

Who grew up this way

Surrounded by people who used to say

That rhyme about sticks and stones

As if broken bones

Vernon breaking Harry's wrist, and looking horrified, not because he had done it, but because of what other people think.

Hurt more than the names we got called

And we got called them all

Being called "freak", and "boy", and worthless.

So we grew up believing no one

Would ever fall in love with us

That we'd be lonely forever

Staring at a girl in a hospital bed.

That we'd never meet someone

To make us feel like the sun

Was something they built for us

In their tool shed

Running from Dudley's gang into her house.

So broken heart strings bled the blues

As we tried to empty ourselves

So we would feel nothing

Cutting. Sitting on his bed and watching drops of blood slid down his arms.

Don't tell me that hurts less than a broken bone

That an ingrown life

Is something surgeons can cutaway

That there's no way for it to metastasize

Hearing that she would have to undergo surgery.

It does

She was eight years old

Our first day of grade three

When she got called ugly

The girl with hazel eyes getting tormented in class.

We both got moved to the back of the class

So we would stop getting bombarded by spitballs

_Taking off all his glamours in front of a mirror._

But the school halls were a battleground

Where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day

Getting kicked by them, Dudley's gang.

We used to stay inside for recess

Because outside was worse

Outside we'd have to rehearse running away

_Encountering the Dementors and helping carry Dudley._

Or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there

Hiding behind the trash cans outside so they_ wouldn't find him._

In grade five they taped a sign to her desk

That read beware of dog

The school's yearbook with her name crossed out.

To this day

Despite a loving husband

Harry hugging her before he had to leave for Hogwarts.

She doesn't think she's beautiful

Because of a birthmark

That takes up a little less than half of her face

Freckles sprinkled across her face, making her laugh when Harry tried to count them as they lay on the grass on her lawn.

Kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer

That, someone, tried to erase

But couldn't quite get the job done

Harry standing up for her so she could get to her locker. Being kicked over and over again.

And they'll never understand

That she's raising two kids

Whose definition of beauty

Begins with the word mom

Her holding her little sister in her arms while she ran to the orphanage nearby. Harry going with her to leave a note on the steps. "Obliviate."

Because they see her heart

Before they see her skin

Because she's only ever always been amazing

Her little sister smiling up at her, while Harry held her fingers, helping her walk.

He

Was a broken branch

Grafted onto a different family tree

Adopted

Watching Dumbledore leave Harry on the Dursleys doorstep in November.

Not because his parents opted for a different destiny

He was three when he became a mixed drink

Of one part left alone

And two parts tragedy

_Sirens screaming outside her house as her dad beat her, almost to death, Harry unable to do anything._

Started therapy in 8th grade

Had a personality made up of tests and pills

Lived like the uphills were mountains

And the downhills were cliffs

Four-fifths suicidal

Harry staring out the window with bars on it, hoping, waiting, for Hedwig to return.

A tidal wave of antidepressants

And an adolescence of being called popper

One part because of the pills

Ninety-nine parts because of the cruelty

_Harry staring at her wavy golden hair spread around her on the hospital bed._

He tried to kill himself in grade ten

When a kid who could still go home to mom and dad

Had the audacity to tell him "get over it" as if depression

Is something that can be remedied

Harry being shouted at. "Don't ask questions, boy."

By any of the contents found in a first aid kit

To this day

He is a stick of TNT lit from both ends

Could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends

In the moments before it's about to fall

The sky lighting up with magical fireworks after Tonks had helped him pack.

And despite an army of friends

Who all call him an inspiration

He remains a conversation piece between people

Who can't understand

Sometimes becoming drug-free

Has less to do with addiction

And more to do with sanity

Harry getting locked into his room silence in the house, bliss.

We weren't the only kids who grew up this way

To this day

Kids are still being called names

The classics were

Hey stupid

Hey spaz

Breaking down in the middle of classes because of things.

Seems like each school has an arsenal of names

Getting updated every year

And if a kid breaks in a school

And no one around chooses to hear

Do they make a sound?

Harry sealing himself in the bathroom so he could just be alone.

Are they just the background noise

Of a soundtrack stuck on repeat

When people say things like

Kids can be cruel?

_Harry hiding in the bookshelves of the library. Listening to her read._

Every school was a big top circus tent

And the pecking order went

From acrobats to lion tamers

From clowns to carnies

All of these were miles ahead of who we were

We were freaks

Lobster claw boys and bearded ladies

Oddities

Harry apparating up on top of the school roof and not wanting to go back down.

Juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle

Trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal

But at night

While the others slept

We kept walking the tightrope

Harry not coming home for hours, because at home, he was hit.

It was practice

And yes

Some of us fell

Harry falling down into the Chamber with Ron.

But I want to tell them

That all of this shit

Is just debris

Leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought

We used to be

Harry screaming into his pillow, "kill them," his eyes glowing an eerie red for a moment.

And if you can't see anything beautiful about yourself

Get a better mirror

Staring at himself in the mirror for a moment before slapping himself awake.

Look a little closer

Stare a little longer

Because there's something inside you

That made you keep trying

Despite everyone who told you to quit

Being told to stop this, and STOP that. "Harry, no."

You built a cast around your broken heart

And signed it yourself

You signed it

"They were wrong"

Writing notes to his friend.

Because maybe you didn't belong to a group or a clique

Maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything

Being picked last on every team.

Maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth

To show and tell but never told

Bringing nothing to school, because Dudley took his homework.

Because how can you hold your ground

If everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it

You have to believe that they were wrong

They have to be wrong

Smiling at the girl with blonde hair, hazel eyes, freckles, and scars around her neck.

Why else would we still be here?

Being told the prophecy by Dumbledore.

We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog

Because we see ourselves in them

Standing up to Draco that first train ride.

We stem from a root planted in the belief

That we are not what we were called

We are not abandoned cars stalled out and

Sitting empty on a highway

And if in some way we are

Taking the boat out to the rock on the sea.

Don't worry

We only got out to walk and get gas

Harry being told they were going to take her off medication and let her "sleep."

We are graduating members from the class of Fuck Off We Made It

Harry beaming as they ended fifth grade.

Not the faded echoes of voices crying out

Names will never hurt me

Of course

They did

Harry being punched over and over, but getting back up each time.

But our lives will only ever always

Continue to be

A balancing act

Harry helping her balance on a wooden fence post.

That has less to do with pain

And more to do with beauty

Harry waving back to Mrs. Weasley on the train.


End file.
